


One Month Turned to Two

by HockeyRPFFan



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Childbirth, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Kanan is dead, Mentions of miscarriage, Post season 4 mid-season finale, Pregnancy, Semi-graphic childbirth, force ghost Kanan, labor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 14:38:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13389942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HockeyRPFFan/pseuds/HockeyRPFFan
Summary: PregnantPregnantPregnantThe word echoes in Hera’s skull repeatedly. She hadn’t believed the med droid at first, let alone that she was a month and a half along. The torture she went through on Lothal would have been enough for any woman to miscarry. But her baby was…different. Something to do with the force she supposed. Kanan would know.Would have known.





	One Month Turned to Two

**Author's Note:**

> I've never published any of my Rebels work before, so I figured I'd give it a go! 
> 
> As a warning, this story is a bit sad. I 100 percent do not want Kanan to die at any point this season, but the "what if" gave me a bit of a plot bunny. This story is solely from Hera's point of view, and explores her grief as she deals with being pregnant without Kanan by her side. There isn't a tone of dialogue, and really is more of an exploration of Hera's inner thoughts and feelings. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Pregnant 

Pregnant 

Pregnant 

The word echoes in Hera’s skull repeatedly. She hadn’t believed the med droid at first, let alone that she was a month and a half along. The torture she went through on Lothal would have been enough for any woman to miscarry. But her baby was…different. Something to do with the force she supposed. Kanan would know. 

Would have known. 

If the torture hadn’t caused her to miscarry, she figured her grief surely would. Her heart ached constantly, and she didn’t think she’d ever cried so much in her life. Kanan has been by her side for nearly ten years. Every part of her soul regretted not being with him more. The rebellion came first, they both knew that, but surely she could have spared more time for him? It was useless to think about it now. 

So she was pregnant with Kanan’s child, and she was alone. 

Well, not really alone. 

She still had Ezra, Sabine and Zeb. She hadn’t told them yet; convinced there wouldn’t be a need to when she’d surely miscarry. They’d supported her ever since returning from Lothal, even through their own grief. Sabine was by her side constantly, helping her while she recovered and lending an ear should Hera want to talk. She never did, and people on base whispered that Hera’s voice had died with Kanan that day. Zeb made sure she ate at least a little something every few hours, something Kanan always kept an eye on when Hera got distracted by her duties. Ezra, poor boy, was just as mad with grief as she was. But, when the nights on Yavin grew dark and Sabine finally went to bed, he’d join her. They’d sit in silence, both staring out the cockpit window, avoiding sleep. Sleep lead to nightmares. 

Even if she didn’t miscarry, she didn’t know how to tell them. How would they react? She wasn’t talking as it was, the near constant lump in her throat keeping her mouth shut, least she burst into sobs. If Kanan was still here, still alive, then maybe everyone could be happy. But having a baby without him wouldn’t just be hard; it’d be a constant physical reminder. But she’d already made her mind up – she was keeping the baby. 

A baby was an idea both she and Kanan had never thought would be possible for them. Realistically, it would be near impossibly to raise a child in the rebellion, not to mention the odds of conception between different species. They’d always been concerned if the impossible had happened, one of them could die. One of them already had. They’d both agreed they’d never want to leave an orphaned child behind, and so the conversation had come off the table. 

But, she felt as though it was right, this child. Like it was meant to be. Maybe the force had intervened as a way to save her from herself, her guilt and grief. Give her something to focus on other than the painful beat of her heart and the lack of one beside her each night. Or maybe she was just finding excuses, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she was keeping the baby for however long it stuck around. And if she miscarried – well, that was the end of that. 

Two months turns to three, and three to three and a half. 

Hiding her rolling stomach and sleepless nights was getting harder and harder to hide. The sickly yellow circles under her eyes gave her away, and if Hera saw one more sympathetic smile aimed her way she was going to scream. The droid tells her the baby is developing on track for how far along she is, and that everything seems perfectly normal. She’s past the range when most miscarriages occur. 

The thought of telling her crew, let alone rebel command, makes her sicker than she already feels. She contemplates jumping in her A-wing and running away more than a few times. It would be easy to sneak away in the dead of night, jump between a few planets before settling somewhere to give birth. It would be just her and her baby, no need to tell anyone that her little one even existed. She’s already got a bag packed in her room should she get enough courage to do it. She never does. 

Three and a half months turns to four. 

She’s getting in the shower in the fresher one morning when she catches her reflection. Her body is still thin, even more so than usual and the droid has been after her for weeks to put more weight on. She still isn’t sleeping well, and between the circles under her eyes and the sharp cut of her cheekbones she looks like a shadow of the 18 year old girl that met Kanan on Gorse all those years ago. 

What really draws her attention is the bump on her lower abdomen. She cups it gently with her hands, letting her thumbs caress the smooth skin. She hadn’t really realized she was showing yet, too stuck in her own head to notice. She turns sideways; taking in the way the gentle curve starts low on her pelvis and extends up her stomach. Most mothers to be, she supposes, would be excited or even think themselves as a mother in that moment. All she can do is blankly stare. 

Four months turns to five. 

Hera’s never been happier about being able to hold down a ration. With the nausea finally gone, she eats fervently. Zeb brings her food as usual, and instead of leaving it to cool on the empty cockpit seat beside her, she eats immediately. It seems to please Zeb a great deal (though she knows he’d be happier if she’s actually speak), and as her cheekbones start to fill back out she gets less and less pitiful looks around base. The droid is thrilled to see her weight up, and tells her she should expect to feel the baby move soon. 

She makes a deal with herself. When she feels the baby move, she’ll tell the crew she’s pregnant, breaking her silence. It seems like a great plan, and she thinks she’s bought herself some time. That is until she feels a fluttering sensation in her stomach the next day, different to anything she’s ever felt before. She presses a hand low on her abdomen, and Sabine raises an eyebrow at her. Hera means to put it more eloquently, explain why she waited five months to tell the people she considers family she’s pregnant, but she blurts it out instead. Her voice is scratchy from not being used in months, and she has to clear her throat and repeat herself. 

“Yeah…” Sabine stares at her, nodding slowly. “I figured that out around your third month. I figured you’d tell me eventually.” 

“You’re okay? With the baby, I mean.” Hera says, her voice hoarse. Sabine hands her a cup of caf and nods. 

“Of course, Hera.” Sabine replies, and that’s all she says. She’s quiet after that, but Hera sees the small smile pulling at her lips. 

Zeb brings her lunch that afternoon, and she tells him. He grins at her, letting out a laugh. 

“Yeah about that, I kind of knew. I asked Sabine when I suspected you might be pregnant, and she said she’d already figured it out.” 

Hera nods. “What gave it away?” 

“Your appetite. I’ve never seen you eat that much in the years I’ve known you. You needed food practically every other hour.” 

“Oh.” Hera says, shrugging her shoulders. “The baby was hungry I guess.” 

“It’s a good sign.” Zeb tells her, placing a paw on her shoulder. “Means the kit’s growing.” A ghost of a smile flashes across her lips, and Zeb smiles sadly back. 

“I’m happy for you Hera, really. Having a little one on board will be great.” 

She breaks her and Ezra’s usual silence that night as they sit in the cockpit. She tells him about the pregnancy, and all her hopes and fears. Ezra listens intently, staring up at the stars beside her. When she finishes her side of the conversation with a sigh, Ezra glances over at her. 

“I knew. I knew before you did.” He tells her. She stares at him, dumbfounded for a second. “I could sense it through the force. The baby… it glows with light.” He tells her. 

Hera wants to say she’s surprised, but she honestly can’t. Kanan always told her that her force signature glowed like the dawn, so a child made of her and Kanan’s brilliance must shine like the sun. Which meant Kanan had to have sensed it when he had come for her on Lothal. 

He’d known. 

Five months turns to six. 

The baby grows stronger and stronger, just as Hera does. The gentle kicks and jabs are a constant reminder of the life blooming within her. She tells rebel command, informing them she will no longer be able to go on any missions until after the birth. It’s a shot in the dark as to when the actual birth will be. Twi’lek gestation sat anywhere from seven to eight months, and humans around nine. She was desperately hoping that the baby staid in longer, knowing the horrible complications that often arose in hybrid children, let alone ones that were born too early. Her fellow generals and other leaders all congratulated her, but she could see pity in their eyes. 

A single mother raising her dead lover’s child - a pity. 

A Twi’lek mother with a hybrid child - a disgrace. 

A rebel leader with no time for a baby - a mistake. 

A mother with a force sensitive child - a threat. 

She distances herself, working mainly from the Ghost. She doesn’t need their pity; she and the baby are going to be just fine. 

Six months turns to seven. 

Her stomach had rounded twice the size in a month, following the style of a Twi’lek pregnancy. It set Hera on edge, despite the med droid assuring her they were prepared for complications. If her child had more human biology, its lungs wouldn’t be developed enough to survive at this point. Her steady bravery falters, anger filling its place. The crew walks on eggshells around her, not wanting to set her off. 

“I’m pregnant, not made of glass!” She yells at Sabine one afternoon, after Sabine suggests she handle the rewiring in the control panel, not Hera. Sabine backs away, giving Hera her space. Ezra and Zeb shoot worried looks her way. 

“What?” She barks at them, and they both shrug. She curses under her breath, walking as quickly out of the cockpit and down the hall as her belly will let her. 

“Hera…” Sabine calls hesitantly after her, but Hera keeps walking. She knows if she turns back, she’ll loose it again. It’s not like it’s their faults. It’s her fault, she knows that. 

She walks off base one day, just wanting to be alone for more than a few minutes at a time. She walks for hours, getting herself as far from base as she can. She walks so far that the ruins trail off in to thick foliage. The terrain turns rocky, and the leaves of the trees slap against her face as she pushes her way through. If she can just keep walking, get out of the forest-. 

She stumbles, hands clutching at her stomach as she lands on her knees. Her throat constricts, and the heat of unshed tears burns at her eyes. She screams, the sound echoing around the dense forest. She curses in Ryl, letting her native language roll off her tongue as she releases all the pent up emotion within her. She cries out at the universe for putting her in this position. Yells at the force for tearing the man she loved away for her. 

“Why Kanan? How could you do this to me? I needed you.” She screams. “I can’t do this by myself! Why did you leave me to do this on my own?” 

The baby kicks inside her, sharp blows that knock the wind from Hera’s lungs. She stops her yelling, pressing her hands hard against where the baby moves within her. Her screams turn to sobs and she falls back off her knees, cradling her belly. She mutters out apologies to her baby. 

“I’m so sorry. I know I didn’t feed you enough at first, or sleep enough. I’m sorry I’ll be the only parent you’ll have…” She goes on, apologizing for the hardships him or her will have to face with their hybrid status. For the time Hera knows she won’t be there when the rebellion needs her. For not having the answers the little one will have some day about the force. “I’m so sorry. My poor baby, I’m sorry.” 

_“Hera.”_

A cool breeze flows around her, and she whips her head up as her name is whispered into her ear. She looks up, and while no one is around her, she can feel the press of a hand to her cheek and lips on her forehead. The hand moves from her cheek to join hers, cupping her belly. The baby kicks hard against the invisible hand. 

“Kanan?” She whispers, and the firm press of the hand against her belly is enough to confirm for her he’s there. 

Six months turns to seven. 

By Twi’lek standards, she’s at full term. By human standards she’s got another month and a half to go. By Hera’s standards her belly is about to be bigger than the Ghost itself. The crew is hesitant to leave her alone, convinced she’s going to go into labor at any second. Sabine hovers, never more than a room away. Zeb won’t stop asking if she needs anything – something to drink, maybe something to eat? Ezra remains a quiet presence, but even he sticks close, especially at night. 

Her flight suits don’t fit over her ever expanding waistline and she’s forced to find some alternative clothing. Her oldest pair of leggings, stretched from years of use, fit just over her bump. She can get her general’s jacket on easily enough, but the zipper doesn’t even connect let alone zip. On a quiet afternoon, she slips into Kanan’s old room, soon to be the nursery. A crib had been bottled to the floor, and the storage space stocked with diapers and clothing for the little one. Only one drawer of Kanan’s things remains. A few articles of clothing are stuffed into a drawer under the bed, and Hera resorts to riffling through it. Kanan obviously hadn’t had a stomach as big as hers, but his sweaters always were soft and stretchy. She finds an old one, the olive green faded from wear and years gone by. She thinks it was from around the time Ezra joined the crew, and it brings a smile to her lips. 

“Well, this will have to do, won’t it baby?” She says out loud, and a firm kick to her ribs answers her question. 

The crew smiles at her that night as they she sits down to dinner on the Ghost. She sits on the edge seat at the booth in the common area, her stomach too big to fit in her usual spot in the middle. It’s a nice meal, filled with happy chatter. It’s almost as if they were all there together again. 

Seven months turns to eight. 

Hera’s typical morning consists of getting out of bed, going to the fresher, the common room for breakfast, and then spending her day in the cockpit (with about a million additional trips to the fresher, not that she’d ever admit it). Rebel command tries to give her things to do – flight lesson plans, ship read out inspections, flight coordinates, intel interpreting, translation…the list goes on. But the tasks are just so mundane, and half the time Sabine stumbles in to her either napping or grumbling under her breath at the latest report. She really doesn’t understand how doing nothing all day can exhaust her, but she’s so tired all the time. 

The baby moves less, way too big to shift around anymore. While Hera had been worried about a pre-term birth, she’s more than ready for it now. She’s a month over due by Twi’lek standards, and only a little over a month and a half until she’d be due with a human baby. As much as she’d love to give her baby the best chance to develop she was not, repeat NOT, giving birth to an overdue baby. The med droid assures her she won’t have to wait that long, that the baby is already head down and ready. It’s just a matter of time until labor starts. She’s determined to kick start her labor, so she walks around base as much as she can at the droid’s suggestion. 

Zeb makes her some spicy Lasat soup that was common in his culture for overdue mothers. To Hera’s Twi’lek palette it’s delicious, but doesn’t do much (except make Ezra about fall out of his seat as it burned his mouth). A week goes by, and still nothing happens. Sabine contacts her mother for suggestions, and Ursa insists that a certain tea will start labor right away. Sabine makes it for Hera that afternoon, and while the tea is soothing, it doesn’t seem to have an effect. They decide to try again the next day, thinking maybe she just needs to build it up in her system. Ezra meditates next to her that night as they go through their usual routine of sitting in the cockpit together. 

“What are you doing?” She asks, tilting her head from where she’s reclined, looking up at the stars. 

“Sending calming waves to the baby through the force.” He tells her, eyes shut. “I’m trying to encourage him or her that it’s safe to come out. Is it working?” 

Hera sits silently for a second, and presses a hand to her stomach. Nothing happens. 

“I think the baby’s sleeping.” She says with a shrug. “It’s making me feel calmer at least.” 

Ezra sighs. “I wish I could do more. If Kanan was here…” 

“You’re doing the best you can, Ezra, and I appreciate that so much. Even if he was here, he wouldn’t be able to do anything more than you are.” She tells him, and Ezra nods. 

Her labor still doesn’t start that night. She lies in bed late at night a few days later, staring up at the ceiling in her room in annoyance. She’s nearly eight and a half months pregnant at this point, and she’s just so done with it. 

“You know, it would be great if you could use some of your divine intervention and kick start my kriffing labor.” She whispers into the quiet of the room, hoping maybe Kanan can hear her. She’s pretty sure that’s not how the force works, but she figures it doesn’t hurt at this point to try. 

She wakes up a few hours later to some mild cramping, and she presses a hand to her lower abdomen at the feeling. It’s not much worse than some bad menstrual cramps, and she’s felt similar ones lately as the practice contractions set in. She closes her eyes and nuzzles her head back in to her pillow, convinced the feeling will pass. She jolts awake again later; the cramping stronger than it had been last time. She takes in a steady breath, releasing it shakily as she struggles to sit up. 

“If I’d known all it was going to take was asking you to start my labor I would have done it weeks ago.” She says quietly, and she swears she can hear his chuckle in her ear. 

The pains come and go, and she paces her room, hands on her lower back. They aren’t strong enough yet to be worried about, and her water hasn’t broken yet either. There’s no point in waking the crew in the middle of the night, not when they’re probably going to have a very long day. She rotates between walking and sitting, and lying down when she gets tired. The hours roll by slowly, and the contractions grow as the time passes. It’s early morning when her door hisses open, and she blinks at the dim lighting in the hallway. She smiles up at Ezra from where she’s sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“I could feel your pain. Are you okay?” He asks her groggily, sitting down next to her on the bed. 

“I’m alright Ezra, I’m just-.” She starts to say, only to be cut off midsentence by a contraction. Ezra offers her his hand, and she squeezes it gently as she breathes through the pain. His face is pinched when she looks at him as the contraction ends. She gives him a reassuring smile, patting his hand. If this is how he feels now, she can’t imagine how he’ll be when she’s truly in labor. Which is why Sabine would be joining her for the labor and delivery, not Ezra. 

Hera hadn’t been sure she’d wanted anyone there at first. Who she really wanted at her side she couldn’t have. Sabine and fought her tooth and nail, refusing to let Hera even think about being alone as she gave birth. Twi’lek and Mandalorian cultures were similar in that women gave birth supported by the women of their tribe or clan. Hera’s mother had given birth surrounded by her and Cham’s mothers and grandmothers, while Ursa’s mother-in-law had delivered Sabine. Sabine was the only female family Hera had left, so she insisted. 

“Get Sabine, please.” She asks Ezra, and the poor boy looks beyond relieved to find someone else to deal with her labor. Within a few moments, Sabine flies into her room just as another contraction starts. Hera feels Sabine touching her stomach, likely checking for the baby’s position. While Sabine had wanted to deliver the baby herself, Hera had drawn the line at that. Regardless, Sabine had studied up on midwifery in case of an emergency. With a slow breath, Hera opens her eyes. 

“The baby is definitely in position. That felt like a strong contraction too.” Sabine tells her. “I’d say this is the real deal.” 

“The contractions are still at least thirty minutes apart, and my water hasn’t broken yet.” Hera tells her. Sabine nods, and turns to Ezra. 

“I need some cool water, some towels and some hot water. Now.” She tells him, and he scampers away, clearly freaked out by Sabine commanding tone. 

They decide to stay on the Ghost until her water breaks, or her contractions grow closer together. Hera’d much rather wait here than in the medbay anyways. Ezra returns with his arms full of the requested items, and Sabine swiftly kicks him out of the room as she lays all the supplies out on the worktable. Sabine offers a hot towel to Hera, and she rolls to her side to let Sabine press it into her lower back. Hera drifts in and out of consciousness between contractions. They burn down her back and stomach, and it feels like it goes on for hours. Sabine quietly tells her stories or hums, letting the soothing sounds calm Hera down. 

When her contractions close in on eight minutes, Sabine insists on making their way to the medbay. Hera’s surprised to see its early evening as they slowly walk into the inner parts of the base. The med droid is waiting for them when they walk in, and an assistant droid is buzzing about. The droid directs them to a small patient room, offering Hera a medical gown. Sabine helps settle her on to the bed, and the droid instructs her to scoot down and pull her legs back so it can check her progress. After a few uncomfortable seconds, the droid announces she’s only two centimeters dilated. Hera groans, and Sabine’s brows furrow at the news. She’s been in labor for hours, and she’s barely progressed at all. 

So she and Sabine pass the hours the same way they had before. Hera paces around the room, resting every once in a while. She squeezes Sabine’s hand when the pains get too bad, and lets Sabine press hot packs to her back and cool packs to her head when the contractions get too overwhelming. Hera’s just so frustrated, and so, so tired. 

“I just want Kanan.” 

The words tumble out of her mouth in a whimper before she even realizes it, and she hears Sabine’s breath catch in her throat next to her. She looks up at Sabine with bleary eyes, and sees Sabine’s eyes are filled with tears. 

“I know, Hera. Just a little longer, okay?” Sabine says quietly, and then looks away, focusing back on pressing the heat pack on to Hera’s aching back. 

The hours roll by, and by that night she’s finally sitting at six centimeters, but her water has yet to break. She’s been in labor for hours, and Hera’s not sure how much longer she can hold out. The droid suggests breaking her water manually, and Sabine agrees it’s not a bad idea at this point. Hera consents, clutching Sabine’s hand in her own as the droid begins to work. The relief is unbelievable, and she moans as the pressure in her back unwinds a little. Her labor progresses quicker from there, moving quickly from six to seven, and then eight centimeters. The pain is beyond unbearable, more a constant haze than true waves. Sabine comes in and out of focus as she replaces the cool pack on Hera’s forehead. She distantly hears the droid buzzing about, coming in to check her progress every so often. She fades back out of consciousness again. 

_“It’s okay, Hera. I know it hurts.”_ She swears she hears Kanan whispering in her ear next to her. 

_“You’re so strong, and it’s almost over. Our baby is coming soon; you’re so close to meeting him or her.”_

_"You’re not alone Hera, I’m always here beside you.”_

She blinks back into consciousness again as the droid rolls in to exam her, and while the pain is still terrible, she feels more grounded. The droid trills happily at her, telling her she’s reached ten centimeters and is ready to push. Sabine helps her sit up a bit, and get her legs back to get ready to push. The droid brings in some medical supplies, its assistant beeping behind it with a stack of sterile towels in its claws. A contraction burns down her stomach, and the urge to push is the only thing she can concentrate on. 

“Go ahead and push, Hera.” Sabine urges her, and so Hera does. 

It doesn’t lessen the pain any, but it at least feels like progress. She pushes in waves as the contractions ebb and flow on top of each other. It’s hard work, and she’s so exhausted. She closes, her eyes, focusing in on just Sabine’s voice as she encourages her to follow the contractions and do what her body tells her. The phantom feeling of a hand on her cheek, gives her the extra bit of strength she needs, and she bears down with gritted teeth. The droid tells her the head is starting to crown, and _oh stars_ , does it burn. She stops pushing, letting out pained, and panting gasps at the sensation. 

“You’re doing so well Hera, it’s almost over.” Sabine tells her as she whips the sweat from Hera’s face. 

_“You can do it Hera, come on darling.”_ She hears Kanan’s voice again, and she gathers herself as another contraction starts. The baby’s head arrives in one, heaving push. 

“Oh Hera, you’re doing so well. Give me your hand.” Sabine tells her, smiling. 

She takes Hera’s hand, and guides it down between her legs. Hera sucks in a breath at the feeling of the baby’s head, running her fingers over the small budding spots where lekku will form. The droid tells her to push again, and she puts every ounce of strength and love and determination she has into one final push. She falls back in to Sabine’s arms as the pressure releases, and she lets out the air she was holding, just as the baby lets out a shrieking cry. Tears spring to Hera’s eyes and she lets out a joyous laugh. The droid places the squalling babe on to her chest, and Hera cradles the baby close. 

The droid tells her it’s a girl, and Hera beams down at the baby through her tears. She looks nearly identical to Hera, with pieces of Kanan visible in her features. The little one’s skin is light green like her own, with bits of Kanan’s tan skin blended in, making patches across her body. The baby’s nose and eye shape are all Hera, and she runs a gentle finger down the baby’s cheek. The baby blinks at her, and a sob is ripped from Hera’s throat at the sight. It’s as if Kanan is staring back at her, the same crystal turquoise color shining brightly from her daughter’s eyes. Hera presses her lips to her daughters forehead, letting her own tears run down her face. 

“Hello little love.” She says softly. The baby squirms on her chest, and Hera shushes her. 

“She’s gorgeous.” Sabine says, her eyes filled with tears too. “You did so well, Hera.” 

“I couldn’t have done it without you Sabine, really.” Hera tells her. 

Sabine shrugs a shoulder at her, smiling. “You did all the hard work, I just sat here.” 

“Maybe so, but you helped more than you know.” Hera says. “That’s why I want you to be her godmother.” 

“Hera…” Sabine breathes out, tears rolling down her cheeks. “You’re sure?” 

Hera nods, placing the baby in Sabine’s arms. “Absolutely.” 

Sabine holds the baby close, smiling down as the baby smack her lips together in a yawn. She looks up at Hera. “I’d be honored to be her godmother.” 

“Good.” Hera says, and the baby lets out a cry. Sabine settles her back on Hera’s chest, and Hera guides the baby to her breast. 

The crew comes and goes that night, meeting her little love for the first time. Zeb is enchanted by her, and the baby looks dwarfed in his large paws. Ezra can’t stop smiling, the first Hera’s seen him do so since Kanan died, and the sight of him holding his goddaughter makes Hera’s heart melt even more. They leave her with the baby for the night, and the droid brings in a crib. Hera puts it as close to her bed as she can, and once the baby falls asleep after a late night feeding, she passes out herself. 

She wakes hours later, a gentle glow making her crack her eyes open. She knows it can’t be that late in the morning yet for the room cycle lights to be on, and the baby isn’t crying, so she isn’t she what woke her. She blinks her eyes open, groaning as she sits up. She has to blink again to make sure what she’s seeing is real. Kanan stands over the crib, his figure a ghostly blue and shimmering softly. The baby coos up at him, hands outstretched towards Kanan’s hand that hovers over her body. 

“Kanan?” She whispers. 

_“She’s beautiful, Hera.”_ He says, looking up to meet her eyes. She gasps at the sight of him, his eyes perfect and whole, no longer scared and milky. 

“You’re really here.” She says, and he nods. “I thought I kept hearing you.” 

_“You did. I told you, I’m always by your side. You might not always be able to see me, but I’m always watching over you.”_ He tells her. 

She nods, tears spilling down her cheeks. 

_“I don’t have much time, but I wanted to check on you both. You’re okay?”_ He asks her, walking around the crib to sit in front of her. 

“Sore, exhausted, but so happy. I love her so much.” She tells him, and he smiles. 

_“She’s something else. What’s her name?”_ He asks. 

“I didn’t give her one yet.” She says, reaching over and pulling the baby into her arms. “It didn’t feel right to pick one without you.” 

_“Hera…”_ Kanan trails off, sorrow filling his tone. _“I know you don’t want to hear it, but you have to move on without me. I don’t want this little one’s childhood to be filled with sorrow.”_

“I know.” Hera whispers, staring down at the baby. “It’s just hard at times, especially like this. We should be naming her together.” 

_“So let’s name her right now.”_ Kanan says, and she gives him a watery smile. _“She’s such a light being, brighter than the dawn. I’ve never seen anything like it.”_

“Dawn.” She says softly, staring at the baby and then back up at Kanan. “We could call her Dawn.” Kanan beams at her, reaching out a hand and smoothing a thumb across the baby’s temple. 

_“I like it. Dawn Syndulla.”_ Kanan says. 

“Dawn Syndulla.” Hera echoes. “It fits her. What about a middle name?” 

Kanan seems to consider it for a moment, and then bites his lip. _“You can say no, but I’d like to give her my master’s name. She protected me and made me the man I was.”_

“Dawn Depa Syndulla then.” Hera says, and Kanan beams at her. He leans over her, and Hera feels the faint feeling of lips pressing to her own. 

_“I have to go now.”_ Kanan tells her as he pulls back. Hera whimpers, tears filling her eyes. 

“I know, its okay love.” She tells him, voice cracking. Kanan gives her a sad look, and reaches out hand, cupping her cheek. He does the same to the baby, and Dawn lets out a sigh. 

_“I’m so sorry, Hera. I wish I could stay too. I’m with you and Dawn, always. I love you both, so much.”_ He tells her, his body fading from view. 

“I love you.” She whispers into the emptiness of the room. 

A few days after giving birth she returns to the Ghost. 

Her body is still sore and aching, and she avoids rebel command like the plague. She’s in no condition for any missions, let alone with a week old baby on board. Dawn, for the most part, is any easy baby. She eats greedily and sleeps a lot. Hera likes to keep her in a sling, pressing Dawn close to her chest while she works. It reminds her of Ryloth, where all the mothers carried their newborns on their chest, and she wishes her own mother was there to meet her granddaughter. 

Night times can be hard, however. Dawn sleeps well most of the time, but Hera’s convinced she has nightmares just like she and Ezra have far too often. Some nights Dawn is inconsolable, her sobs filling the halls of the Ghost as Hera walks her around, desperate to calm her down. So Hera will feed her, change her, bounce her and walk her around base until her cries tamper off to whimpers. When it’s safe to finally sit down, she’ll rock her back and forth, watching as Dawn’s drooping eyelids fight sleep. Her voice seems to calm her best, so Hera will hum, or sing, and sometimes even tell a story. 

On one particular night after a well fought battle to get Dawn back to sleep (the only battle Hera’s seen lately), she sits on the ramp of the Ghost, the cool night air soothing Dawn’s heated cheeks. Gentle breezes flow across them, though none of the leaves on the trees move. 

“Thank you, love.” She says softly, and the feeling of lips on her forehead makes her smile. Dawn whimpers again, and Hera pulls her close, shushing her. 

“Oh I know little love, nights are hard. Maybe a story would help? Let me think of one.” She says, looking out across base, and then back to the sleepy, little eyes watching her. “Ah, I’ve got one. It was a simple story, about a boy who was lost, and a girl who was broken. They fought alongside a survivor, a war veteran, and a fallen knight. I led them into battle against an evil so terrible, it tried to black out the stars. We fought for each other. We fought for those who could not. But we never imagined it would end like this…”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, and please feel free to drop me a comment below :)


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